


Once Upon an Angel

by sebastianblack



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Bi!Dean, Cas Speaks All The Languages, Dean and Benny are Bffs, DeanxOC, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, High School AU, Homophobic Language, M/M, Pan!Cas, Underage Drinking, Young!Sam, human!Cas, multiple AUs, teacher!Cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 09:36:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebastianblack/pseuds/sebastianblack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean never thought he could fall for a man. So when he finds himself drawn to his teacher, the enigmatic linguist Dr Novak, he struggles with how to handle the attraction. </p>
<p>But the situation runs so much deeper than he can imagine.<br/>Destiny glitches the loop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Upon an Angel

**Author's Note:**

> This fic started as a drabble. Many thanks to Tumblr users for supporting my efforts to turn this novel-length. Getting there slowly!  
> A lot of the things "warned" for happen much later in the story. I hope you enjoy, and feel free to leave comments/visit me on Tumblr (thetisfortiberius).

Chapter 1 – In The Loop, part (a).

 

It was the second day of school and Dean was already in love with his French teacher. It would have happened sooner if he'd had French on the first day, he was sure. Okay, perhaps it wasn't love, but Dean could not keep his eyes off Dr Novak for the whole period and he found himself hanging onto the teacher's every word. He had a low but expressive voice that painted words in the air. His accent when he spoke English was unmistakably American but when he spoke French, he could have been native, as far as Dean was concerned. Dr Novak's eyes were almost the same shade of blue as the copper sulfate solution Dean had spilt the period before in chemistry.

He'd never had much interest in language before this lesson, but he found himself pulling his homework out of his bag as soon as he got home, spreading it out across the kitchen table, much to Sam's surprise.

"What are you doing?" the thirteen-year-old asked, biting into the only Red Vine left from Dean's latest break-up. Dean wasn't sure if he should scowl at being caught actually doing his assignment or if he should chuckle at Sam's quizzical expression.

"Just trying to keep up this year," he replied with a shrug. It wasn't exactly a lie.

"Well, your teacher must be really hot if you're doing homework without beer," Sam teased, his grin showing that the last one of his baby teeth - a canine - had fallen out. Dean's stomach lurched guiltily. Did he really only do homework when he was drunk? That wasn't a good example to set for his little brother.

" _He_ isn't," Dean lied, stressing the pronoun. Dr Novak was hot, by anyone's standards. But Dean was straight. He was working on getting a girl to go out with him at the moment. Her name was Phoebe, and she had the most incredibly pouting lips that Dean was sure would look incredible wrapped around his-

"Doesn't matter. You're doing homework. You're trying to impress him. Or a girl in your class." Sam sat down opposite Dean and chewed thoughtfully. "It's only been a week since you broke up with ... what was her name? Maggie?"

"Meggie, and what's that got to do with anything?"

"So you haven't had enough time to charm someone else into your arms, which means you're trying to impress someone. Girl, hot man-teacher, who cares? The point is, I'm right and you're in denial."

"You don't know jackshit, kid. Now do your homework." With a bitch-face to compete with the best of them, Sam slammed his own workbook down on the table and the two scribbled away in silence, the only sound coming from Dean mouthing French to himself.

~*~

It was Dean's turn to read his translation aloud. His heart beat a drum solo in his chest and he was sure the guy in front could hear it, and would tease him about it later. A tall, stocky southerner named Benny, that guy was the nearest approximation to a friend Dean had in this class - in the sense that he and Dean had come close to beating the shit out of each other once and now held a decent amount of respect for one another. He turned to watch Dean now as the Winchester cleared his throat. With a near-blank but soft expression on his face, Dr Novak listened to Dean's rough translation of the paragraph. Benny smiled to himself at the light blush under Dean's freckles. It was almost amusing to see the usually suave, confident boy get flustered. Dr Novak had that effect on a lot of people, though, Benny thought, even if the teacher himself was oblivious to it. At six foot exactly, with messy dark hair and glasses, it was understandable that someone who swung that way would get a bit hot and bothered in his presence. Dean had never mentioned his sexuality to Benny - to anyone, as far as Benny knew – but it was obvious from the way the green-eyed boy blushed under Dr Novak's scrutiny that he wasn't just embarrassed about his not-all-that-bad French skills.

A couple of people in the class tittered cruelly when Dean messed up a sentence, giving it a completely different meaning that turned out to be a bit obscene. He faltered, glancing up at the teacher. Dr Novak tilted his chin down a little and puffed his chest up almost imperceptibly, and the class fell silent. At moments like this, they were reminded of just how strong he really was. In their second lesson with him, he had been lifting boxes down from the top of a cupboard, and once they were on the floor it was clear that they were full of heavy books. Whispers had quickly spread about how ripped the enigmatic teacher really was, varying from "you can see his muscles under his shirt if he stands in the light" to "he can lift his desk over his head with one hand". But, although he had never raised his voice, this fact about Dr Novak's hidden strength made him quite intimidating, and the class never slacked off for long.

Once the giggling quietened, Dr Novak gently corrected Dean and explained why he was wrong, before moving on to the next student. Dean was left a little confused by the explanation, but didn't say anything in case his classmates thought he was stupid. He didn't want word to spread that he was just some dumb pretty-boy. He'd only had a couple of months in the town now that his father had finally settled on a house instead of a motel, and that wasn't long enough to build up a reputation. He forced himself to stare at the page on which he was writing, instead of Dr Novak walking around the classroom, his large, square hands weirdly still by his sides as he spoke to the students who wanted help. At the end of class, Dr Novak asked Dean to stay back for a minute.

"Dr Novak," Dean said, sitting on the desk directly in front of the teacher's. He met the bright blue gaze with feigned confidence, feeling like a deer caught in headlights at having to talk to the hot - I'm straight, he's just weird and intimidating - teacher alone.

"Hello, Dean," Dr Novak responded, his voice low and even, soft now that he wasn't speaking over the low hum of a class. "I didn't want to ... single you out in front of the class," he began, his posture perfect even if his tie was on backwards, "But you seemed to be struggling with conjugating into the conditional tense, even after my explanation." His seriousness made Dean feel like he was about to be punished for it, but he continued. "If you need help, you can ask me any time. I'm free during the last period every day and my office is always open to you. Don't be afraid to ask for help." He offered a smile, and it creased his face in a way that made Dean wonder if he hadn't smiled for a while. Dean blew out a breath that he hadn't known he was holding.

"Uh, yeah, actually. I'd appreciate it if you could go over it again, if you've got time, sir." Dr Novak smiled again, more genuinely this time. It turned his eyes to little slithers of blue on the light olive of his face. They were darkly-circled and the lids drooped heavily, as though he hardly slept, and Dean felt a twinge of guilt at taking up his time. He patiently went over the verb conjugation once again, though, and reiterated the parts that Dean couldn't grasp right away. The teacher’s shield seemed to drop a little, and Dean felt himself warming to the man’s personality. He was a little awkward, but verbally eloquent. He made far too much eye contact and ran his hands through his hair when he wasn’t speaking. Their conversation veered slightly from the original topic after a short while, and Dean learnt that he had a PhD in three different subjects, at the tender age of twenty-six, and was a genius of sorts. He wasn’t very good with people, but loved teaching languages because they had brought him so much joy and challenge when he was young.

“And you never really stop learning,” he concluded, “I’m still learning more every day by teaching you.” There was something in his tone that suggested the more personal ‘you’ to Dean, and he felt an unfamiliar pull in his stomach. He might have recognised it as jealousy if he’d really thought about it. He didn’t want Dr Novak to mean ‘you students’.

“You’re pretty cool, Dr Novak,” Dean grinned, having genuinely enjoyed his company, “Thanks for the help. French sure works up a fucking decent appetite.” He flinched internally as he expected the teacher to scold him for swearing, but Dr Novak didn’t even acknowledge it.

“Any time,” was all the slightly-less-enigmatic Dr Novak said, before burying his nose in a book, thus dismissing Dean.

~*~

 “Do you want to go to the gym with me, Dean?” Sam asked with an air of innocence. Those deliberately widened eyes alerted Dean to an ulterior motive.

“Do you want me to go to the gym with you, Sammy?” Dean mocked, his voice rising in pitch to mimic his brother’s sweetness.

“I want you to drive me,” Sam replied, smiling up at Dean with the puppy-dog expression he knew he couldn’t resist.

“Fine. What d’you want to go to the gym for, anyway?” he huffed as he grabbed his coat – brown leather, comfy, warm.

“Well there’s this girl-”

“I should ‘a known! What’s her name?” He grinned at Sam and raised his eyebrows suggestively as they settled into the car. It was their father’s but he was away for a couple of days with friends, so Dean was free to use the black beauty.

“Jess,” Sam replied, bashfully, “I thought it would be cool to start working out or learning some self-defence or something. She gets picked on a lot and I want to be able to protect her.” He was staring out of the windshield and Dean couldn’t help but wonder if Sam was the one being picked on. He decided not to push it and ask outright, though. If it really started to be a problem, he’d hear about it one way or another and sort it out. But he didn’t want Sam to feel like he was prying.

A recent memory flashed into Dean’s mind. The previous day, his French lesson had started with a bit of a stir when Dr Novak had arrived with a black eye and a cut under his bottom lip. It looked for all the world like he’d been beaten up. Privately, Dean wondered how well the other guy had come off. Even after their post-class chat, and a couple of consequent tutoring lessons that had dissolved into conversations about the fact that the teacher could speak Vulcan and Klingon, but had never seen Star Trek, he was still an intimidating presence to Dean. Dean’s height had shot up over the last week or so and he was now a few inches taller than Dr Novak, which only emphasised the fact.

Dr Novak had refused to answer questions about his injuries, and had used the opportunity to test the class’s vocabulary. They had spent the next twenty minutes discussing different kinds of injuries, in French of course. Dean had spent the next twenty minutes trying not to notice the way the cut made Dr Novak’s already-full bottom lip stick out. He’d spent thirty whole minutes flirting with Phoebe afterwards to make up for it.

Dean glanced across at Sam. If someone as daunting as Dr Novak could be overpowered enough to sustain a black eye and a fat lip, what would happen to scrawny Sammy if someone picked a fight? It was with grim resolve that Dean handed over enough of his own hard-earned money to sign Sam up for boxing lessons.

“Is it ok if I sit in on the first couple of lessons?” he asked the receptionist. “I just want to make sure he gets on ok.”

“I don’t see that there would be a problem. A lot of dads sit in-”

“Oh no, I’m his brother,” Dean corrected her, giving her one of his most charming smiles. She returned it with warmth.

“I’m sorry. I guess you look older than you … I mean, not that you look old but I know a lot of young fathers … It’s the third door on your right.” She blushed when Dean winked at her, but Sam rolled his eyes and started off down the corridor, so Dean had to hurry after him. Sam was put with a group of seven other boys, most of them younger and smaller than him – although he was getting to be very tall for his age.

The room had a boxing ring, several punching bags and bunch of other equipment that Dean didn’t recognise. Only one of the punching bags was occupied. Apart from that, the room was empty. Dean took a seat by the punching bags as the instructor talked the boys through a warm up, and as he approached them, he realised that he recognised the lone person punching. He leant back in a seat that was too far away to be intrusive but near enough that he could observe the boxer. Shrugging off his jacket, he traced the contours of the man’s muscular arms with his eyes. He allowed his gaze to travel across the man’s back and down, down – wow - down until they were watching his feet dance about in an imaginary ballet of a fight. He was wearing a white vest that was soaked in places with sweat. Obviously he had been working out for a while. The set of his jaw and the steel of his eyes told Dean that he was working out some aggression. The bruise around his eye socket shone in the artificial light. There was clearly more to Dr Novak than anyone had speculated.

Dean caught his eye as he paused to catch his breath, and his expression softened. A smile flittered across his face briefly but it disappeared as he took his gloves off.

“Hello Dean. What are you doing here?” Wiping the sweat from his face with a towel, he walked to where Dean was sitting. Dean’s heart hammered in his chest as he answered.

“My brother’s taking the self-defence class and I’m his ride.” He nodded to the small group of boys at the other end of the room.

“It’s good of you to bring him,” Dr Novak said, before taking a swig from a water bottle. “I would have thought you were … too busy.”

“Not really. I mean, I have my friends, sure, and I work at my dad’s friend’s garage sometimes for a bit of extra money, but usually I’m just at home making sure Sam isn’t alone. You know, doing homework. Watching Star Trek.” He winked and Dr Novak smiled, appreciating the joke.

“Messau nash-veh.”

“Gesundheit.”

“It’s Vulcan,” Dr Novak chuckled. It was the first time Dean had heard him laugh. It wrinkled the corners of his eyes and showed his teeth. He leant forward into the laugh, turning his head away from Dean, as though shy about his chuckle. Ok, maybe I’m a little bit gay for him, Dean thought, his stomach lurching at the revelation. He pushed the thought aside and resolved to drink it away later.

“You nerd,” he teased.

“Oh, as opposed to the cool teen lothario who watches Star Trek.”

“Did you seriously just call me a lothario? Wow, I’m starting to get a reputation at last.”

“As long as your only reputation in my classroom is for speaking French well …” Dr Novak trailed off and sighed. It was impossible for Dean to tell what he was thinking. Time to change the subject.

“So, uh, how long have you been …?” He gestured towards the punching bag as Dr Novak sucked another mouthful of water from the bottle.

“Since I was sixteen. I used to get beaten up a lot so I took up boxing to get myself in shape. I developed an … appreciation for the sport and I fight sometimes as a hobby. In a ring,” he clarified, looking up with widened eyes, worried that his words might have been misconstrued. “I don’t attack people in the street.” He smiled a small, restrained smile to show Dean that he was trying to joke.

“I guess that explains the black eye,” Dean grinned. Dr Novak looked away again, suggesting to Dean that his affirmation was insincere.

“Do you do any sports?” he asked after a moment. Dean was stung a little by the change in topic but he couldn’t expect a teacher to humour him prying into his private life.

“I used to do some martial arts when I was Sammy’s age, but I stopped after a couple of years because …” He paused and ducked his head, embarrassed. “We used to move a lot. So I just keep myself fit now by working out in my room and working on the cars.”

“You can fight?” Dr Novak asked, his eyes lighting up but his voice stayed flat and calm as ever.

“Yeah, I guess. I’m pretty handy with a sword too.”

“Do you want to spar for a while?”

“I’m sure the school board would approve of you beating the crap out of a student,” joked Dean.

“When it’s in the name of educating said student about a sport, they do approve,” Dr Novak countered, but he agreed to just show Dean how to fight the punching bag. He fumbled around in his bag for a second and pulled out some spare wrist wraps. After handing them to Dean, he re-secured his own. Looking blankly down at the strips of material, Dean asked the teacher to show him how to put them on. Dr Novak glanced up at the group of boys then turned his gaze back to Dean.

“Of course.” He gently took one of Dean’s hands, and started to wrap the material around it. He talked Dean through the process, emphasising that it was important to help keep the bones in place when he was fighting. “If you should ever suspect that you need to protect yourself – and I’m not condoning fighting, but should you be somewhere you don’t feel … safe – wrapping your hands like this will stop the bones from breaking if it comes to blows. Say, zombie apocalypse.” Once he was finished, his fingers lingered a second longer on Dean’s palms as he smoothed the already-smooth wrap.

Thump-thump, thump-thump, went Dean’s heart. He knew he shouldn’t read into that one second of unnecessary contact, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted Dr Novak to want him.

“Now you do the other one,” Dr Novak instructed, and watched avidly and patiently as Dean wrapped his other hand. He handed Dean the boxing gloves and studied the boy as he threw a few punches at the punching bag.

“Your core is good, but your form is very sloppy. Here.” Dr Novak stood beside Dean and showed him how to stand. Dean copied him, but the teacher was still unsatisfied, so he started moving Dean around until he was correct. Dean felt heat rising to his cheeks. This was a move he totally would have pulled on a girl, if he’d been in Dr Novak’s shoes. His skin burned under the teacher’s touch.

Dr Novak lightly tapped Dean’s stomach. “Tuck this in.” Then he got behind him and pulled on his shoulders so they weren’t so square-on, in relation to the punching bag. He tapped him on the back of the head. “Tuck your chin down a little.” Finally, he placed his palms flat on Dean’s hips and twisted them lightly so he could alter the position of his feet. Again, his hands lingered a second too long. “That’s it.” Dean turned his head and met two shining eyes. A not-unpleasant scent of fresh sweat rolled off Dr Novak, which reminded Dean too suddenly of the smell of sex.

“You look really different without your glasses,” Dean blurted, to get rid of the mental image he was having, which involved a bit more privacy and way fewer clothes.

_Definitely need a drink, wow._

“Is that a flirtation?” Dr Novak asked, moving his hands from Dean’s hips.

“Is _that_ a flirtation?” Dean answered, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. Dr Novak frowned at him, but didn’t reply.

They took it in turns to fight with the punching bag, Dr Novak correcting Dean’s footwork every now and then, until Sam approached.

“Dean, we can go now.” He looked from Dean to Dr Novak and back again.

“Oh, yeah, just give me one minute.” Dean started to unwrap the straps from his wrists, but Dr Novak stopped him.

“Keep them. You never know when the zombie apocalypse will begin.” He was deadpan, but Dean couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his face.

“Is that your boyfriend?” Sam asked sweetly, as they made for the door.

“Shut up, bitch,” Dean replied, playfully cuffing Sam round the back of the head.

“Jerk,” Sam retorted, sticking his tongue out.

~*~

 “You definitely have the hots for him,” Benny muttered, sneaking up behind Dean on their way out of French a week or so later.

“Fuck you, Lafitte. I’m not gay,” Dean snapped. He was tired. His dad was supposed to be back from his hunting trip last night and hadn’t showed up. Dean had stayed up all night and was in no mood to take shit from his friend today.

“Look, Dean, I’m not out to get you all riled up. I really want to talk about this, man.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, _man_.”

“I have a cousin who really struggled with his sexuality when he was our age and he said that confiding in someone helped him get through it.” Benny grabbed Dean’s arm. “Seriously. You spent the entire period checking out Novak and you always blush when he calls on you in front of everyone. I ain’t never seen you blush at anyone else.” He pulled Dean into a classroom doorway, keeping his voice low. Making Dean uncomfortable was the last thing he wanted. His cousin’s suicide attempt had been a terrifying time for Benny, who had only just been old enough to grasp the concept of mortality. “I don’t want to force you to talk to me, but you should know that being bi is nothing to be ashamed of, and I’m here for you if you need me. Now, let’s go get some beer.”

Sam was spending the night with a friend from the debate team, so Dean and Benny were going to a party that night. Phoebe was going to be there and Dean intended to make his move. They spent a few hours drinking beer at Benny’s place, listening to some good old classic rock; then they made their way to the house at the edge of town that belonged to a girl called Charlie. Dean was already a little tipsy, and Benny pressed a shot glass into his hand as soon as they arrived. Twenty minutes later, Dean was dancing around Charlie’s living room, hitting on every girl he passed. Soon, he found Charlie, a clever redhead who was chatting amiably with a cute girl Dean didn’t know.

“Hey Chairlie, Charlie,” Dean slurred, “You’re gay, right?”

“Hold on, I’ll be back in ten,” Charlie told the cute girl, who winked. The redhead pulled Dean into the kitchen, where there were fewer people and the music was quieter.

“What’s up, sweetie?” she asked, handing Dean a glass of water.

“I think I wanna fuck my French teacher, but he’s a dude and I’m not gay,” he explained, his words blurring together.

“And?”

“Whadya mean, and?”

“You can have a crush on a guy and still be straight,” Charlie explained, nodding at Dean to drink the water. He obliged, slopping a little down his front. “You’re the only person who can tell you what your sexuality is. And people round here are generally cool with the whole same-sex thing, so just follow your dick.” She hesitated. “But bro, you can’t sleep with a teacher. You can’t even flirt with him. He could lose his job if anyone finds out.”

“But he flirts with me, Charles, I swear he does.”

“Even if that’s true, you can’t go there.”

Pause. “You’re right. You’re the best, Chairlie. So I should just fuck Phoebe instead!”

“Yeah. I think she’d be cool with it too. If you’re going to go at it in my house you need to use a condom and put it in the garbage after, ok?”

“Sure thing, gorgeous.” He swaggered away to find Phoebe, leaving the half-drunk glass of water on the counter. Charlie sighed and shook her head as she returned to the party.

Phoebe was on the porch, giggling and gossiping and taking shots with a small group of girls. Dean noticed her long, blonde hair shine as she threw it over her shoulder, and made a beeline. “Hey beautiful,” he purred in greeting. She beamed at him and fluttered her false eyelashes at him.

“Hey Dean. You going to get me a drink?”

“Sure.” He took her by the hand and led her into the living room, grabbing a bottle of beer for each of them and searching for a quiet corner. They ended up going upstairs to some bedroom or other and perched on the bed together. After a bit of superficial chatter and flirting, they started to make out. Dean was too drunk to really taste the sweet alcohol on her breath and his hands were wandering beyond his control. They caressed her sides and breasts over her dress, until she was heated up enough to start slipping it off. Dean pulled his t-shirt over his head then found a nipple with his mouth. Phoebe started to pant and grabbed a handful of Dean’s hair, gently pushing him down towards the opening between her legs. He took his time, teasing her by drawing circles on her belly with his tongue. When he reached the top of her slit, he stood up and pushed her back so she was lying completely on the bed.

The room was spinning when Dean leant down to pull her ankles over his shoulders, the bed swaying unnaturally beneath him. He ran his tongue down the length of her lips before parting them with his fingers. As he flicked her clitoris with his tongue, she began to moan, a sound that penetrated the haze of his intoxication and sent blood shooting to his groin. The warm saltiness against his tongue increased, and after a few minutes she was wet enough that he could push a couple of fingers in.

He kissed up her torso again and found her mouth. She writhed under his expert touch and he revelled for a moment in his triumph. He’d been working up to this for weeks. There was a pause as he scrabbled around in his by-now-discarded jeans for a condom. He slid it onto his dick, after stepping out of his boxers.

~*~

“You leaving, man?” Benny asked, an hour or so later. “It’s only like, one o’clock.”

“Yeah, I’ve got to work tomorrow and I’m pretty hammered so I better sleep it off.”

“You sound like you’re sobering up. Did you get laid?” he walked Dean to the front door and leant against the frame.

“Yes and yes, but I can’t really remember it,” Dean replied, stumbling slightly as he walked down the stairs of the porch.

“You gonna be all right walking by yourself?”

“It’s like a fifteen minute walk. I’ll be fine.”

“You text me when you get in, buddy, ok?” Benny was concerned for Dean to get home in one piece but he didn’t want to leave yet. And he was drunk enough to not trust himself to find his way back to the party from Dean’s.

~*~

Castiel had been marking students’ work since six that evening and he was tired. He knew he should sleep in order to be alert enough for the conference call at three, but he knew he wouldn’t fall asleep now. His face was throbbing – as soon as one bruise had faded, another was dealt to him, but that was the danger of boxing. He liked the feeling of the adrenaline, the sting of failure when his opponent landed a punch. It made him feel more grounded, more human.

But it was his first week in his new apartment. It was closer to work that his previous residence, but without the hustle and bustle of his siblings he found it hard to sleep. And the verbal attack he’d suffered earlier had unsettled him.

No, there was no way Castiel Novak would sleep tonight.

He glanced at the clock. Almost one thirty. His favourite take-away should still be open. A walk would help to clear his head, too. After removing his glasses, Castiel donned his trench coat – a beaten-up brown thing that almost swept the floor, that he’d had longer than he could remember – and locked the front door on his way out. Pocketing the key, he made his way to the centre of town. People were starting to empty out of the couple of bars, into which Castiel had never dared to venture. He swerved down a few side streets to avoid the crowd and came to his burger joint, which was just off the beaten track enough to never be too busy.

As he drew near to it, he noticed a figure slouching against the wall next to the door. The closer he got, the more his heart started to thump. The one drunk he didn’t want to run into in the middle of the night was Dean Winchester. The boy wasn’t old enough to drink, for one thing, and Castiel felt guilty about seeing him drunk. And drunk he was. The smell was enough to tell Castiel everything he needed to know in that respect. Two eyes slowly swivelled around to stare at Castiel. They were the colour of sunlight on new leaves, the exact colour of spring. They focused suddenly and Dean grinned in recognition. _Oh lord_ , Castiel thought.

“Hey, Dr Novak! What are you doing here?” His words were slightly slurred, but he didn’t seem completely out of it. That was something. Castiel ran a hand through his hair.

“Hello Dean. I’m getting a burger. What are you doing here?” Alone, at night, vulnerable, under-age.

“I was on my way home from a party and I got lost, so I found somewhere that smelled nice and just decided to chill here until I sobered up a little,” Dean replied, clumsily zipping up his jacket. “What time is it?”

“It’s one-thirty.” Dean swore loudly, and Castiel shushed him. “Don’t draw attention to yourself. You’re not old enough to have been drinking.”

“You’re not old enough to not be drunk on a Friday night,” Dean countered, flashing a cheeky, charming smile. Castiel’s stomach fluttered, but he was disappointed by Dean’s irresponsibility.

“You’re jeopardising your future-”

“Don’t give me none o’ that crap when I’m too hammered to take it in,” Dean interrupted, though he had lowered his voice. Castiel looked up and down the street and ran a hand through his hair again. He was torn. He couldn’t leave Dean here by himself in case a police officer happened along, but he didn’t want to be seen walking around in the middle of the night with a drunk student. Especially one that he was known to be friendly with.

“Do you need me to walk you home?” he asked, after weighing it up. Dean’s safety was the important factor that had decided it.

“I’d appreciate it, sir. Might end up in Mexico otherwise.” He giggled to himself and Castiel couldn’t stop a smile from sliding onto his face. Dean’s laugh had had a profound effect on him the first time he’d heard it. It was during their first one-on-one session and Castiel had something that he’d meant earnestly. Dean had thrown his head back and emitted the most honest-sounding laugh Castiel had ever heard. It was like rain hitting cobblestones – natural, cool, deep. His stomach had leapt into his chest and he’d blushed for the first time since he was a teenager.

“I’ll be just a minute. Wait here,” Castiel instructed. He slipped into the take-away and bought two burgers. Then, he handed one to Dean, who thanked him enthusiastically before taking an inelegant bite. Castiel placed his free hand around Dean’s waist, to help him walk, and Dean threw his arm over the teacher’s shoulder in response.

I hope nobody from school sees this, Castiel thought.

The heat of Dean’s body pressed against his side was more delicious than physical contact had been to Castiel in a long time. It felt right to be side-by-side with this boy, as though they were side-by-side in another life. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep or the time of night, but Castiel’s mind was overwhelmed with a sense of destiny. For a moment, he wanted to spin Dean around and hold him tightly and feel his heart beating against his chest. But the way they were walking now was already too much physical contact. The feeling passed.

It was only that Dean looked after his little brother so untiringly that Castiel found attractive about him, he reasoned. None of his brothers had cared that way for Castiel as he was growing up. Especially after their father had disappeared, it was always the girls who kept an eye on the baby of the family. He’d missed having them around while he was in college so he’d ended up moving in with one group of his siblings or another, over and over for years. Dean was always there for his little brother, a constant presence of comfort and love in that young boy’s life, and that pulled on Castiel’s heartstrings.

No, he realised, after a few more steps, that wasn’t all he admired about Dean. At seventeen, they boy was working through his spare time to make up the money his father apparently drank away, as far as Castiel could infer from their previous conversations. He was strong and a fast learner, as their boxing lesson had shown. He was charming and comfortable to talk to. Castiel had never been good with talking to people, but with Dean it was easy as breathing. He was mature beyond his years and engaging. Yes, there were many reasons that Castiel liked his student. But that didn’t make liking him ok. After double-checking with Dean that he had the address right, and leading him down another side-street, he decided to let Dean talk for a while to take his mind off it.

“How did you end up so far from your home, alone?” he asked, between bites of burger.

“I thought I’d sobered up enough to get home. It was only a fifteen minute walk but …” He looked at Castiel pointedly. He already knew the rest of that story.

“Did none of your friends want to walk you home?”

“Yeah, Benny did, but he had his eye on a nice piece of ass, and friends don’t get in the way of a good fuck.”

“I … I see.” Castiel was unsure how to respond. He didn’t want to get onto the subject of Dean’s sex life. It would be inappropriate, to say the least. Dean continued regardless, his filter disabled by alcohol.

“I didn’t want him to have to leave early but I didn’t want to stay. I think I hooked up with someone but I don’t really remember, and I felt like crap after because …” He trailed off, and Castiel wondered if he was trying to recall what had caused his bad mood. “Never mind, you don’t want to hear my problems.” With a smile for himself, Castiel found himself squeezing Dean’s hip, in reassurance. _Go on, I don’t mind_. But they made the rest of the journey in relative silence.

At Dean’s front door, Castiel was reluctant to let go. Dean slipped his arm from Castiel’s shoulders, grazing the back of his neck with a large, clumsy hand as he did so. The hairs on Castiel’s arms stood up and for a second they were holding each other, Dean’s hand in Castiel’s hair, Castiel’s hands on Dean’s waist. Of course, Dean’s other hand was waving half a burger around, which took the edge off the scene - enough that Castiel could step away from his student and those spring-green eyes, and remember their student-teacher relationship.

Dean stabilised himself against the door as he fumbled in his pocket for the key. “Do you want to come in for a drink?” he asked as he unlocked the door. Yes, Castiel thought, I want to make sure you go to sleep and don’t just pass out on the couch.

“No, I can’t,” was all that he replied.

“But you do want to.” Dean gave him that heart-winning grin again, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, betraying the seriousness behind his statement. Castiel didn’t answer. He didn’t know how to. Dean continued, in a slightly meeker voice. “Would you want to if I didn’t have the hots for you?”

The question took Castiel by surprise. Dean Winchester had the hots for him. That strong, pure concentration of goodness and conscientiousness with the burning green eyes, who stirred irrational feelings of destiny and warmth and wanting in Castiel. “Dean,” he began, but the boy interjected.

“I should’ve kept my mouth shut about that. But it’s been getting under my skin all day, ever since Benny mentioned it this afternoon.”

“Is that why you left the party early?” Castiel’s curiosity was getting the better of him, but it seemed that Dean wanted to talk about it anyway. And there was nobody around to hear.

“Yeah, something like that. I couldn’t concentrate on the girl; I just couldn’t do it, because I kept thinking of you.” Dean glanced at the floor. Castiel’s heart pounded in his ears.

“I would be risking my job if I came into your house right now,” he insisted, speaking slowly so that Dean would understand. “It would be … irresponsible of me even to tell you that if you weren’t drunk I would probably have hesitated more. I can’t even tell you that, were it earlier in the day, I would very much like to have a beer with you and watch Star Wars.” Dean smiled and met Castiel’s eyes.

“But you can’t tell me that, so you didn’t.”

Castiel nodded. “You … make sure you drink some water and go to bed.”

“Sure.” With that, Dean disappeared into the darkness of the empty house, leaving only a faint smell of alcohol and burger behind.

~*~

The Raging Saturday Hangover had been inevitable but that didn’t blunt the headache one bit. Dean was grateful for the shade he got from hood of the car he was fixing. He’d managed to get to work on time despite his late night, and he’d started on this beaten-up car as soon as he’d arrived – a classic Ford from the late 50s that had so many things wrong with it, it would probably take him every shift for a few weeks to get it going again. Bobby had insisted that the owner was very fond of the car, and while the parts were very difficult to replace he wanted it back in working order as soon as possible. Dean was excited for the challenge and it took his mind off the surreal night he’d had.

It was with a grease-covered face that he peeped out from under the hood to see who Bobby was talking to. The voice was familiar, female and much too squeaky for his poor throbbing head to handle. When he saw the gleam of golden hair, his stomach turned over. She was coming over. Dean swore under his breath.

“Hey Dean,” she smiled, showing no hint of a sore head. “Phoebe.” Dean squinted at her through the bright sun, no longer hidden in the shadow of the car. He pulled a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and, taking the interruption as a cue for a break, lit it. “I didn’t know you smoked,” Phoebe commented. She was trying to make small-talk, Dean thought, but she must be here for a reason.

“There’s plenty o’ things you don’t know about me, sweetheart,” he replied loftily. He gazed past her as he blew smoke out of the side of his mouth, wishing she wasn’t standing with her back to the sun.

“Yeah, that’s kind of why I want to talk to you. Listen, last night you just took off before I had a chance to ask what was going on.”

“I don’t really remember,” Dean lied. “I just ended up going home.”

“Benny called me and said you hadn’t told him if you got home or not. I stopped by your house but your dad said you were at work so …”

“My dad’s home?” Dean groaned. He took another drag on his cigarette and ran a hand over his eyes. “If I go home smelling like I’ve been smoking he’ll kill me.”

“So what happened?” Phoebe persisted. Dean shielded his eyes from the sun as he considered how much to tell her.

“I just couldn’t go through with it. I’m sorry.”

“Did I do something wrong?” She looked so hurt that Dean started to feel even guiltier than he already did.

“No, it’s nothing you did. You’re great actually. You’re sweet and hot and funny and … that’s why I couldn’t go through with it. You didn’t deserve it. You can do better.” Another puff on the cigarette and an attempt to meet her eyes followed a heavy sigh.

“Oh. Do you want to take me out for coffee or something first?” There was laughter in her voice and it put Dean at ease a little – she was teasing him.

“You know, if you’d asked me a week ago, I’d have said yes, but …”

“You like someone else.”

Dean really did meet her eyes this time. “Yeah, I do. Is it that obvious?”

“Just one guess out of a possible ten or so,” Phoebe shrugged. “Whoever she is, just do me a favour and go for it, ok?”

“It’s not that simple.” Inhale, hold, exhale. Stay calm. “Listen, I got to get back to work.”

“I’ll go, then. Call me if it doesn’t work out with your new girl.” Flicking his cigarette to the floor, Dean told her he would. Then he watched her walk away.

 

When he got home, his father was watching TV and, to Dean’s surprise, drinking coffee.

“Where’s your brother?” was all that he said as Dean passed on his way to the fridge.

“He stayed at a friend’s house last night. I guess he’s spending the day, too.”

“You guess? And since when does Sammy have friends?” Dean pulled a can of soda out and popped it open with one hand. He fished around for some bread with the other. He pushed the bread into the toaster.

“One of the kids on the debate team. He’s been taking a self-defence class, so don’t worry about him.”

“He can’t afford self-defence classes.”

“I’m paying for them.”

“Just make sure he doesn’t get into trouble. And I sure as hell hope that’s not cigarette smoke I smell on you.”

The toast jumped up. It was burnt.

~*~

 “Hey Benny. I’m sorry about last night, man. I got lost. It was almost two when I got in. I just forgot to call.”

“You got to be careful that time o’ night, Dean. It ain’t safe. I knew I should ha’ come with you.”

“I was fine. Actually, I bumped into Dr Novak and he walked me home.”

“You bumped into Dr Novak? At one in the morning. Are you sure you weren’t just high?”

“I didn’t smoke anything. Yeah, Dr Novak. He was out getting a burger. Waiting for a business call in Europe or something.”

“Did you invite him in?”

“Shut up.”

“Oh fuck a goddamn duck. You actually did. Did you?”

“I might have done.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he would have come in for a beer with me if it was earlier and if I wasn’t drunk.”

“You reckon he’s into you?”

“I don’t want to read too much into it. We’re just friends. And he’s our teacher.”

“But you’re into him.”

“Yeah. It’s like, he understands how my mind works. We talk like we’ve known each other for years and he actually gives a crap about how I am. And …”

“And?”

“Never mind. I was going to say something seriously gay.”

“Dude. Come on. You started. I’m curious now.”

“No, I’m not fucking saying it.”

“Yes you are.”

“I’m not going to say the fucking thing.”

“Say the thing, Dean. Say it or I’ll come round there and beat your ass until you do.”

“Fine. It’s almost as if … as if we knew each other in a past life or something. I can almost tell what he’s thinking when he looks at me, I swear. Sometimes he watches me when he thinks I’m not looking and he has this really … soft expression on his face like … I don’t know man.”

“Maybe he’s counting your freckles.”

“Shut up, Lafitte.”

“Bless your little heart, Winchester. Can I help you pick out your wedding gown?”

“You’re such a bag of dicks.”

~*~

 It was only a few weeks later that the snow started to fall. Snow brought with it the threat of winter exams, and Dean found himself spending even more time with Dr Novak. The teacher had offered extra tutoring to plenty of people in the class, but it was still Dean whose time he took the most of. They sat in the classroom through lunch breaks talking about their mutual love of burgers and beer. They sat in the office until sunset discussing the bible and myths and monsters. They watched the snow through Dean’s living room window on Sunday afternoons reminiscing about family and home and loss. Through November their bond grew until both hearts beat a lively rhythm in the presence of the other.

The day before the French exam, Dr Novak consented to tutor Dean and Benny at the Winchester’s house. Dean spent the morning frantically cleaning, after his father left for his weekly hunting trip. When he put the vacuum cleaner away, Sam pressed a hand to his brother’s forehead.

“Are you sick? You never vacuum.”

“Shut up. Benny and Dr Novak are coming over. I told you already.”

“Ooh, Dr Novak. Aren’t you on first name terms with him yet?” Dean threw a duster at him. Brushing the dust out of his hair, Sam punched Dean in the arm.

“Jerk.”

“Bitch. You’re too strong to do that to me now.”

“Like you can’t take it.” There was a knock at the door. Dean’s heart started to thud.

“You can unclench, it’s Benny,” Sam said, peering out of the window.

“Don’t get in the way.” Dean opened the door to a grinning Benny. They bumped fists and Dean passed him a beer as he threw his books down on the dining table.

“So you, uh … you told Sam about ..?” Benny began, raising his eyebrows. It took Dean a second to figure out what he meant, but Sam got there first.

“About the fact that he has a giant crush on Dr Novak? No, he doesn’t ever talk about that. He does talk about Dr Novak all the time though. Dr Novak’s beautiful French accent. Dr Novak’s sexy American accent. Dr Novak’s talented tongue. Dr Novak’s gorgeous eyes. Dr-”

Dean swatted him with a French textbook. “Shut up. I do not talk about his … talented tongue.”

“But now you’re thinking about it.” Sam grinned widely and Benny threw his head back in a loud guffaw. “Seriously though, when he comes over to teach you, you never seem to be talking about French, and the way you look at each other … I’d like to think that’s how mom and dad looked at each other.” To his surprise, Dean felt the hot sting of tears in his eyes.

“Sammy …” There was a soft knock at the door.

“Pull yourself together, man,” Benny said, patting Dean on the shoulder. Dean rushed into the kitchen and wiped his eyes on the bottom of his t-shirt as Sam answered the door to Dr Novak.

“Hey Sam. How’s the boxing going?”

“Not bad, Dr Novak. Coach says I might be ready for competition in the spring.”

“Wow, that’s incredible! Hey Benny, are you ready to get started?” Benny smiled to himself. Dr Novak wasn’t looking at him – he was looking around for Dean.

“He’s in the kitchen, sir,” Benny said.

“Oh, no I wasn’t-” At that moment, Dean returned to the living room. When he locked eyes with Dr Novak, a grin spread across his face. Dr Novak didn’t quite smile but his eyes softened.

“Hello Dean.”

They worked for a solid hour, sipping beer straight out of the can – except Sam, who was chugging some green, thick smoothies that drew happy hums from him, and disgusted scowls from Dean.

After this hour passed, someone knocked at the door. Sam answered it. “Sam, you have to come and join our snowball team.” A young, high female voice floated through to the kitchen, where Dean, Dr Novak and Benny were taking a break. “You have the best aim. And you’re strong.” In a few seconds, Sam poked his head around into the kitchen.

“It’s Jess. They’re having a snowball fight.” Dean nodded silently at him, leaning back against the counter – incidentally, the same section of counter that Dr Novak was resting his hand on. “I’ll be back for dinner.”

“You better be.” It was only a few seconds before the door slammed shut, and laughter and shouts could be heard from the street. Benny glanced out the window.

“Damn, is it really snowing that hard?” He went to the window for a better look. Dr Novak shifted his hand so his thumb was just gently pressing against the small of Dean’s back. Dean glanced at him. The teacher’s eyes were on his lips. Dean’s expression changed. Questioning. Dr Novak’s eyes flicked away coyly. Then flicked back. A slow smile spread across Dean’s face. Dr Novak lifted his chin slightly, the corners of his mouth also pulling up in a smile. As Dean’s feet were stretched out quite far in front of him in his leaning stance, his eyes were level with Dr Novak’s, and that chin-tilt meant Dr Novak was looking down at Dean’s face. It made his eyelids droop and Dean felt a tug in the lower half of his abdomen. If Dr Novak was laid down, watching Dean trail his tongue down his body, that’s what his expression would be, Dean was sure.

Benny returned from the window to place his half-drunk can of beer on the counter.

“I’m going to have to get going. I need to drive out of town and back, and it’s snowing pretty hard so I don’t want to wait for the roads to get too icy.”

“Yeah, best to be safe. Sure you’re not over the limit?” Dean asked, standing up and walking towards the living room.

“Nowhere near,” Benny reassured him, as he gathered his books.

Dean’s pulse began to quicken again as he realised he’d be alone with Dr Novak. Normally, he wouldn’t be so worked up about it – he had spent a lot of time alone with him recently – but today felt different. The way Dr Novak had looked at him just now, the warmth on his back from the contact with Dr Novak’s thumb, the fact that they hadn’t planned to be alone this time … to Dean, it felt like the crackle in the air before a lightning strike.

Benny closed the door with a bit of a slam. Then there was only Dean and Dr Novak.

Dean returned to the kitchen, where Dr Novak was downing the last of Benny’s beer. He was leaning on the counter with his back to the door, elbows resting on the work surface. He was all curves and angles, like some cosmic equation laid out for Dean to solve with his hands and his mouth. He had never wanted to put his hands on someone as much as he wanted to put his hands on Dr Novak right now. To smooth his palms over the tense shoulders hunched up above a perfect, muscular back. To slide his fingers around his hips and gently scratch that little bit of skin that was showing where his shirt was riding up. To grip those firm arms as they held him against the wall, all breaths and hums and lips. Dean shivered and decided against approaching the counter.

“Are you ready to start again, Dr Novak?” he asked instead. Dr Novak tapped the can back down on the counter.

“Dean, you know you can call me Castiel when we’re alone.”

“Sorry Castiel, I keep forgetting. Where does that name come from, anyway? I feel like I’ve heard it before.” They were in the living room now, books and empty drinks strewn across the dining table. The couch looked very inviting to Dean, but there was still too much work to do. As they sat down on the slightly less comfortable wooden dining chairs, though, it was clear that the conversation wouldn’t be turning to French any time soon.

“It’s an angel name. It’s not an angel in the Bible, but it’s derived from an angelic name and something Hebrew, probably, knowing my father. I’ve never bothered to look it up, though.”

“So your father was a student of religion?”

“I wouldn’t put it quite like that. He was … very eccentric and he was … obsessed, some would say, with angels. All of my siblings are named for angels, or have angelic-sounding names. He wasn’t really our father – we were all adopted, I’ve told you that before – but … it’s complicated.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just a complicated situation. We were all adopted when our mothers didn’t want us, but didn’t believe in abortion. Our father adopted us, named us, put us up in his home. The older children helped look after the younger ones. One day he just disappeared and we haven’t heard from him since. Some of my siblings have spent years looking for him. Others, like the ones who live at the edge of town, just focus on themselves, living their own lives. As the youngest, I … tend to get the blame for his disappearance, so I try to keep my head down. The ones who don’t blame me say their doors are always open to me. I used to live with my sister Naomi and my brother Metatron, but we had a bit of an argument and … that brings us up to now.”

“How long have you been holding that in?” Dean was taken aback by the sudden frankness of his teacher. They’d discussed Castiel’s family problems before, how extensive the family was, him not getting along with some of his siblings, him not knowing his real parents, but he’d never gone into this much depth.

“A while. I just felt like it needed to be said. I know so much about you and your family, yet you knew next to nothing about mine.” Castiel glanced up from his hands, which had been waving emphatically in front of him as he spoke. Normally his hands were dead still as he spoke. Perhaps it was a way of overcoming nerves, Dean mused. Had he been nervous about telling Dean about his family? Now, he did seem a little shy, Dean noticed. The way his eyebrows were pushed up in the middle over his crystal-clear eyes, the quick, involuntary squint as he looked at Dean – yes, he did seem nervous after all.

 Impulsively, Dean reached across and squeezed Castiel’s hand. It was warm, a little clammy and rough with callouses. Castiel smiled, almost languorously, and squeezed back. Then he shifted his hand around so he could intertwine their fingers. Dean’s pulse was loud in his ears. He couldn’t even hear the clock ticking on the wall. Castiel’s fingers were laced between his, their palms pressed together, and that was all that mattered. Castiel slowly lifted Dean’s hand to his lips and kissed it. His eyes fluttered shut for a second. It’s ok to be affectionate with me when we’re alone, was what he was saying, Dean thought.

They worked for another hour, their chairs close together, occasionally sharing caresses and touches when they found an excuse for it. They took another drink break and found themselves in the kitchen, leaning on the counter again. Castiel was facing inwards, resting his arms and drink on the surface as he had before, and Dean was supporting himself the other way round, relishing the opportunity to stretch his legs after out an hour of studying.

Some silence passed. Castiel broke it, by telling Dean that angels must love him very much.

“What do you mean?” Dean replied with a frown.

“Freckles are said to be made when an angel kisses you. You … have a lot of freckles.” His mouth twitched as though he was suppressing a laugh. Dean’s breath caught in his throat.

_Maybe he’s counting your freckles_.

“Yeah, well maybe an angel fell in love with me in another life.” Pause. “I think you must have been an angel once, Cas.” It was Castiel’s turn to frown.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t know. It just feels like … you might have been. Once.”

“I … I know.” Their eyes met. An electric jolt passed between them. A stomach lurch. An understanding. Slowly, carefully, Dean raised his hand to Castiel’s cheek. Slid it round to his neck. Tenderly rubbed a thumb on the corner of his jaw.

He tilted his head a little and moved it towards Castiel’s. Castiel moved his arm, which was in the way, and placed his hand on Dean’s stomach. Pushed the t-shirt up a little. Bit his lower lip and glanced up at Dean’s eyes. Couldn’t look away.

It was hard to tell who moved next out of the two of them, because the movement was so subconscious and subtle that it was barely a movement at all. More like space altered itself for them, Dean reflected later. Either way, their lips were a hair’s breadth apart, touching without touching, when Castiel murmured two words that shattered the moment and made the bottom fall out of Dean’s stomach.

“I can’t.”

Any words that Dean meant to say fizzled away in that instant. He shifted his hand on the back of Castiel’s neck and managed to breathe a slightly pathetic, “Why?”

Castiel’s hand withdrew to his side and he took a step backwards, breaking all physical contact with Dean. Breaking eye contact too.

“I can’t get involved with you, Dean. I don’t want to lose my job.” He started for the door to the living room, his back now turned on Dean. Dean’s expression became indignant.

“You love your job more than you love me?” he blurted, then immediately wished he could suck the words out of the air and stop them from existing. His cheeks flared with embarrassment. _Why the fuck did I say that?_

Castiel visibly flinched. “I think I should go. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let it go this far.” Without another word, he gathered his things and left. He came back a minute later for the battered brown trench coat he had left draped over the back of the couch.


End file.
